


Take a rose as change

by REILAVE_H_C



Category: Oasis (Band)
Genre: M/M, real person fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:22:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25687255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/REILAVE_H_C/pseuds/REILAVE_H_C
Summary: He almost gets lost staring at the rose. In the drizzling rain, everything outside seems to be concealed.
Relationships: Liam Gallagher/Noel Gallagher
Kudos: 8





	Take a rose as change

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [【Gallaghercest】Take a rose as change](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25280716) by [REILAVE_H_C](https://archiveofourown.org/users/REILAVE_H_C/pseuds/REILAVE_H_C). 



> Here’s a translation work from my original work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25280716  
> I rewrite a bit but basic story line is the same.  
> I would like to add my boyfriend Amuro as co-writer, who helped me translate most of the second part of the work, also helped me polishing the whole work.  
> Both of us r not native English speakers, so there may be some mistakes, apologies for that.T^T  
> I refer some lyrics and some what they said, using bold to highlight them.

1.

  
Noel fumbled a bunch of keys from his pocket for a few minutes, tried several times until he found the right one and eventually opened the door.

  
He did take some drugs and got some alcohol, although it didn't matter anyway, hardly can you ask anyone to carry his drunk little brother effortlessly when walking down the entire Oxford street in a heavy rain. He helped Liam by his arm, standing at the doorway and calling his girlfriend’s name vigilantly for several times. He hesitated for about a minute, and he didn’t hear any reply nor any sounds, excepting the droplets knocking the window. Then he finally picked up his courage and dragged Liam, who was too drunk to stand on his own, into the little cell.

  
Noel couldn’t help grumbling about Liam’s parka when he removed it impertinently from his brother, it was so fucking troublesome and pretentious. The vomit on it had been washed over by the rain, but it was still emitting a disgusting smell of fermented alcohol. Generally, when Noel took care of Liam who emptied every bar in town, Liam would roll his eyes to his brother, or even punch Noel on his face. But now, unlike usual, sitting docilely on the floor, Liam was deadly inebriated, allowing his brother to take off his coat and drag him into the bed roughly.

  
It took a while for Noel to settle Liam down, for now, so Noel could take his time on rummaging through the closet for some clean laundry. As a drum technician in the Inspiral Carpets, it had been nearly a year after Noel left Manchester. Therefore, he deliberately wore a freshly washed shirt for this homecoming, but it had been entirely ruined by Liam and his fucking vomit. Noel opened the wardrobe, the only things he could see was his girlfriend’s clothing, which reminded him that it had been such a long time since the last time he met his girlfriend and spent the night that he could hardly remember when and why he would do such thing. When he was about to make his decision between a violet silk pajama and a blouse that might not even cover his butt, he eventually found a Beatles T-shirt and a pair of striped pajamas pants, which he forgot the time he bought them, in the dusty corner of the wardrobe.

  
“You’re going to stay here and wait me, y’ know what I mean?” Noel said impatiently, and Liam responded vaguely with a simple “um”. It was always fucking difficult for Noel to deal with Liam, so what he could do was breathing out a deep sigh, taking all the fucking clothes, his or Liam’s, dirty or clean, leaving the bedroom.

  
Even though the mix of weed and rain made Noel groggy, he still remembered to check the pockets before putting all the dirty laundry into the washing machine. Causally he rummaged the pockets of Liam’s coat, where he found two receipts, a water-soaked, completely unrecognized one, and a barely recognizable one. He frowned, scanned the second one for a few seconds, unsurprisingly found a long list of various kinds of drinks. “Fuck me,” he murmured indignantly, “Thank goodness he didn’t fucking smash all the backstage.” He kept rummaged the rest of pockets, where he found Paul’s ID. Their mother had hidden Liam’s ID in a place that no one knew, except for her, just in case that Liam started to drink excessively as soon as he was allowed to. However, both mom and Noel knew that Liam had gotten himself in deadly drunk for thousand times when he was only a teenager, and once upon a time Liam had to crawl back home because he could hardly walk after tons of gin n tonic. Now, Liam had become an adult, it would be so fucking lucky if Liam could control himself a bit, at the very least, not becoming a fucking idiot by overdose.

  
When Noel thought he had already taken everything out and was about to cram the dirty laundry into the washing machine, something red shook off from Liam’s coat, and it fell onto the milky white tiles in the bathroom.

  
It was a red rose. It seemed to be well kept in the inside pocket of the parka, surviving from a night of heavy rain, remaining intact and beautiful.

  
This unexpected rose totally ruined Noel’s original plan of taking a relax hot bath, instead, he only took a causal shower, with mind filling of that beautiful and blurry red, which reminded him of… He shook his head, and the water within his hair was thrown against the wall, leaving stains on it. The guilty forced him unwilling to admit that what he thought a few seconds before was his fucking little brother, not his dear girlfriend nor some other romantic affairs, he was thinking about his little brother’s fucking plump lips. Nevertheless, Noel got over it when he applied shampoo unconsciously, again, on his wet hair. _Fucking hell,_ he reckoned, _it’s not his fault, he’s always yearning for a sister, and Liam’s so fucking beautiful, gorgeous, and god damn **androgynous**._

  
When Noel returned to the bedroom after the shower, the perpetrator of all the chaos tonight had fallen in sleep. The younger man looked like a little vigilant creature, curling himself into a ball in the tangled bed, snoring and dragging a corner of the quilt. While the elder man had to hold that rose, getting confused with what was fucking going on. Yeah, he did have been to too many fucking places with his band, and he did haven’t returned back to Manchester for a while, no wonder his brother would rush to the live house and watch their performance. And maybe Liam was getting high, so he drunk too much, or the other way around, anyway, it’s not surprising that he acted like a complete jerk in the backstage when Noel was checking the drums on the frontstage. Liam was a fucking sticky dog, wasn’t he?

  
_But… What about the rose?_ Noel frowned. _It can’t be for him, because he is Liam’s elder brother, for real. On contrast, it's absolutely possible for Liam to attract a pretty bird with this flower and his angel eyes._

  
_Anyway, he won’t give a fuck._ Noel thought, _if Liam goes out for a one-night stand tonight, just let it be, because he can enjoy the whole bed and get rid of Liam’s noisy, air blower-like snore._ Thinking of that, Noel had to take a great effort resisting the urge to kick Liam out of the bed and then throw him out of the window.

  
Noel calmed down with a long sigh. He crept into the bed, adjusted the position for Liam habitually, tucked Liam into bed, turned around and glanced at the rose on the bedside table, then turned off the light quietly.

  
The whole room fell into darkness, but not silence. Liam was snoring, and the raindrops were landing on the windowsill. Noel didn’t reckon they were noisy because he had gotten used to it. In Burnage, in that crowded bedroom only belonging to Liam and himself, Noel used to rest in deep slumbers with similar noise for many times that he could hardly remember. Human is expertise in adapting themselves to external environment. As for Liam, even though he had claimed for countless times that he would crash Noel’s guitar, and he did in fact, he still got used to the music Noel played eventually. On the eve of Noel leaving Manchester and touring with his band around the world, Liam lighted a cigarette, sitting behind Noel, listening to Noel playing songs from the Stone Roses, one after another, he didn’t move a bit until the sparks almost burnt his thick fingertip.

  
Along with those bittersweet memories, Noel fell asleep. In vagueness, he could tell the person next to him turn around, hugging him tightly with arms and legs.

  
At about three or four o’clock in the morning, nights of nights, Noel awoke, gasping gruffly in cold sweat after a repeated nightmare. He dreamed about his childhood and his father, who would become a devil when he was drunk or getting high. Unconsciously, he turned his head to the person he shared a room with, a habit he had since he was young and had to share a small room and take care of his little brother. He couldn’t get rid of this habit, although he had been far away from home for years, so he accustomed himself to a life without Liam, his family, or his hometown. He finally got used to wake up and see his lover, his bandmate, or just a fucking bland wall. However, this time, when Noel turned around, he saw Liam, and his eyes met Liam’s. It was weird that although there was not a glimmer of light within this room, Noel still could catch the twinkle from Liam’s pretty angel eyes, which were almost the same as Noel’s, but more glamorous.

  
“You awake?” Noel’s sound was as vague as his mind.

  
“Yeah, just have a look of you. Miss you rkid.”

  
“Fucking disgusting.” Noel scoffed, and he got his eyes shot again, trying to fall asleep before the sunrise, “if you’re awake, piss off and hang out with a vacuous bird with your fucking rose, just leave me alone.”

  
Noel heard Liam mutter a “shut up”, and he felt that Liam cuddle him more tightly, then he realised that he had been held in Liam’s arms for a whole night. But he didn’t bother to adjust the posture, because Liam was the one who pressing arms to numb. And when they were both children, many nights Liam had spent cuddling and sharing a small single bed with his brother. Hence, Noel had to get used to it, like he had to get used to Liam’s snoring, and eventually it became another habit of Noel’s.

  
Like the darkness, drowsiness flooded Noel. In vagueness, Noel heard Liam whispered something in low voice, but what was that? Noel fell asleep before he figured it out. Fortunately, it was no longer a nightmare, instead, it was a peaceful, everlasting dream.

  
The morning rain stopped for a while when the sun rose, **the wet damp streets were paved with gold, exactly the same as Noel Gallagher’s dream.**  


  
2.

  
Noel lighted up his third cigarette in just an hour, and viciously swear that if that god damn Liam interrupted him while he was enjoying it, he would definitely twist the cigarette butt on the other’s prominent nose.

  
He had stood in the shithole London Euston like a stupid fuck for a whole hour, only because their mother called him at 6 a.m. in the morning—“Your little brother runs away again, neighbour saw him in Piccadilly, supposedly he went looking for you, if you saw him, get his ass back and apologize to the flowers in the garden.”

  
Noel took a deep, long breath from the cigarette, smell of the cheap tobacco instantly overwhelmed his alveolus, he then breath out them vigorously, as if he would spit out the oxygen with those smoke. 

  
He supposed that everything went perfectly as he planned—join Oasis and be the absolute leader, broke up with that troublesome girlfriend, and, as a free-man, move from the cursed Manchester to London—the fucking god-promised land of Rock'N'Roll, and he would accomplish so much here.

  
In his opinion, it's almost impossible to mess anything up in his perfect, flawless plan, yet Liam fucking Gallagher managed to screw it up. Well, he may know it as well. Considering rkid, he was more than one older brother, maybe a little bit of acting fatherhood was also involved. After all, their real father did nothing worth mentioning but beat the shit of his three children, especially Noel, and his wife when getting drunk or getting high. It was Noel himself the one who let Liam constantly pestering him, growing up with him, and intimidating the punks his brother provoked, calling him “asshole” while treating him, not their scum father, not a single time. **However, what he had done eventually made Liam grow up into a fucking dog, always fucking yelling “Play with me, play with me”, but Noel himself was a cat, very independent creature, a real bastard. Therefore, even though Noel hated the term “sibling rivalry”, but that’s the effectively what it was.** After all these recollections, Noel pinched his cigarette even harder, so much so that he wanted to inlay it on some poor passer-by’s bloody face. 

  
A large crowd flowed out of the exit, speaking the ambiguous northern accents. Strong familiar hometown accents caused an illusion to Noel as if he was back to Manchester, surrounded by the air mixed and filled with alcohol, vomit and dust inherited from the industry evolution. Then he saw the empty-hand Liam charging to him regardless the crowd with a shining smile on his face.

  
Oh god damn it. Noel would never admit that this was one of the reasons why he could tolerate Liam for twenty-one fucking years.

  
Compromised to the smile, he threw the cigarette away, pathetically step on it, and gave his incoming brother a giant hug.

  
Although considering himself a cat, Liam and the faintly tearful angel eyes of his were impossible to reject. Who could anyways?

  
Before they walked out from the station, Noel dragged Liam and bought the ticket back to Manchester the next morning. It almost caused an ugly fight between the two in front of the ticket box. What made Liam compromised eventually was that Noel threaten him to never come back to Manchester ever again, and the prize for that was that the one-day reunion started with a brotherhood-punch. Well, they had get used to it for decades, for all these years, they were just like a pair of rapid spinning magnets, alternating uncanny attraction and irreparable repulsion, yet they would never get rid of the fucking magnetic field from each other. Maybe the last second, they were still having a row with each other, but the next second, on the contrast, they may both got a fucking itch to leave a love bite on each other. The two foul-mouthed young men, with infinite energy, wandering towards south in the city of London aimlessly like a student-couple who were playing truant. They wandered passed the British museum, not going in of course, Liam made a mocking face to the lining-up year-sevens. While passing by Covent Garden, Noel grabbed the street singer’s guitar and randomly played a few chords, Liam also sang some shit along the guitar and ran away, before they got fucking beaten up, of course. After that, Liam couldn't stop singing, sometimes hummed to himself, but mostly sang out loud as if by doing so the crowd would sing along with him like they did with Freddie Mercury. Except he didn’t care about this Freddie non-sense, neither if the crowd sang along with him. Regardless the judgements and criticizes and the look on the passer-by’s faces, is a basic skill of any Rock’N’Roll star. If he cared them, why bother be a fucking rock star, it would probably for the best if he could simply fuck off from the stage as soon as fucking possible. 

  
They wandered around for a whole in 90s London, probably grabbed a bit, although hardly could they remember what they had, they were quite sure they had tons of alcohol. When they finally walked to the Thames, it was almost 9 p.m. In mid-summer, the daylight always shines, the sun always up and the day never ends.

  
Liam swallowed all the whiskey in the bottle, as drunk as he may be, he was still conscious enough to shake his empty bottle and said: “I will go get more.”

  
Normally, Noel would drain his last bit of consciousness to stop him, probably they had emptied every liquor store in London, more would surely made they throw up their brains out. Well, sadly, he had drunk his last bit of consciousness too, so he was more on-board than being a party-killer, while barely holding himself up by leaning on the railing.

  
A few minutes passed, or tens of minutes, either way it felt like hours to Noel, till his little brother’s tall figure reappeared in front of the late sunset. He could hear, distinctively, the bumping of the bottles, but he could not see. He rubbed his eyes, trying to tell whether what in the bottles were beer or whisky. Luckily, the pressure helped his blurring eyes, it’s the stout they yet tried today, but did it matter? No, because he also saw a pinch of red in the blurriness—

  
A bare rose, 

  
“God Damn, why the fuck did you buy a sissy rose?”

  
“The owner doesn’t have enough change, y' know what I mean?” Liam cracked the cap using his teeth like an animal, and handed over the bottle to Noel, “Or what? D' ya expect me to bring back a bunch of stupid candy bars with those fucking cartoon characters on them?”

  
“Other types of fucking flowers are ok, alright?”

  
“Oh, come on, if I bought daffodils, I bet you'll cook them up, eat them and fucking die!”

  
“I’m not fucking Liam Gallagher! At least I didn’t burn down the fucking kitchen, let alone our house!” In that moment, Noel was so piss off that he had the urge to throw Liam in the Thames, luckily, the anger simultaneously made him aware for a bit. He pushed down his anger, also the noxiousness from over-drinking and fill himself some beer, then he finally was fully aware of the subtext of the conversation a few seconds ago.

  
“Hold on, keep those fucking flowers to yourself, don’t give it to me, ok? My neighbour would reckon I’m some fucking sissy bastard in heat, d’you know what I mean?”

  
“No, take it.” Liam tried to force Noel to take the rose, Noel, of course, resisted by griping his fist hard. So, expectedly, the push and pull became a fight, it was somehow lucky that London was full of people and rushing feet, unless someone may actually die, no one would care a fight with alcohol and roses in hands.

  
Someone’s beer spilled right in Noel’s eyes, he was distracted and tried to wipe out the alcohol; this gave Liam an opportunity to finish his brother off.

  
Naturally, he would, he would definitely punch right in his brother’s face, but he was too damn drunk to do what he would naturally do, so on the opposite, he did what was unnatural. 

  
Holding the blooming rose in mouth, Liam kissed Noel, softly at first but then passionately and fervently, before both of them realised what had happened.

  
They both had a taste of that rose, meanwhile, they also had a taste of each other. Since then, many years have passed, and every time Liam reminisces this reckless kiss, he will be so glad that the kind-hearted shopkeeper had carefully cut off all the thorns, so there wasn’t taste of blood, and he could enjoy his most treasured tastes in his life within this kiss—alcohol and Noel Gallagher.

  
Liam never gave a fuck about the fucking relativity, what he only gave a fucking attention was that the time kept flowing around he and Noel, whereas it kept static within them. This kiss was exactly the same as Liam had dreamed for thousand times. Since Noel left Manchester, Liam had fucking dreamed about his brother for countless times, alone, in the room initially belonging to both of them. In reality, those dreams might last for couples of hours or fucking dozens of hours, however, it’s enough for Liam to spend his whole life with Noel in those seems to be everlasting dreams.

  
During this long and amorous kiss, Liam even thought if that was a beginning of another everlasting dream, he would rather sacrifice everything he had to strand into this endless slumber. He eventually realised that he loved his brother, **it’s not hate, it’s love,** like his brother corrected him when they were talking about the bible story in that basement. He should have figured it out when he was yelling “take me” to his brother in the show presented in Boardwalk. He thought it’s hate, because it nearly burst his heart out, it’s too painful that he would rather die with Noel in the vast and unbounded ocean to extinguish the frame that burn his soul into ashes. Their father only had taught them how to hate, so Liam had to learn how to love by himself, like a blind man had to open his eye to the glaring sunlight when he regained the sight.

  
So, Liam left this rose to Noel by this kiss, dumbly and sincerely.

  
They are biological brothers, **they knew each other so well that they didn’t even need to speak when having a quarrel, what they need was only a speechless gaze.** Similarly, when Liam professing what he felt to Noel, what he only needed was staring at Noel, gently, uncertainly, but desperately. Then Noel could understand what he meant, he could feel the emotion lurking behind that gaze, like the eruption of submarine volcano.  
Noel’s gaze skipped Liam, he stared at the dusk behind. During summertime, it seems that the daylight in British will never fade away. However, the north archipelago and everything on it would face a dusk, and Noel had to witness, behind Liam, the sun falling below the distant horizon, like there was a rainfall of molten gold.

  
  
The rest of sanity could only allow them to return back to Noel’s residence like normal people. After **locking all the doors** , the trivial senses vanished, leaving only the irresistible thrill of sexual attraction driven by alcohol and love. They were tossing and turning together like trapped beasts, nothing could ever separate them apart. They were born this way, **two of a kind** , they shared the same DNA, they could feel each other lying beneath the skin, raging through the vein, penetrating every pore in bones.

  
They used to call each other Abel and Cain, brothers, enemies and friends. So, during their first time, Liam doubted for countless time that he would stab Noel to death, and so did Noel. Finally, it was Noel who managed to subdue Liam into bed, after all, it was always Noel who won the arm wrestling, and he was always the proprietary one. He entered his little brother’s body roughly, as if he hysterically wanted to cut him into pieces. Liam couldn’t help screaming with this sharp and intense pain, his eyes were filled with tears. He unconsciously grabbed the sheets around him and messed them up, but still couldn’t get rid of the unbearable agony.

  
Kicking and struggling must have shattered something, sounded like breaking glasses. However, no one here would give a fuck about it. After all, everything between or within them had already been broken into pieces, and if they went on, everything they had would decompose into atomic particles, dispersing somewhere among the vast cosmos. No one, including themselves, would restructure all the things back ever. But they just couldn’t stop.

  
Liam’s emotion was so strong, that he could hardly bear, it made him feel like having a fucking double espresso, which was too strong to taste anything else but bitter and sour. This feeling eventually crashed him down. He burst into tears and, looping his hands around his brother’s neck, seeking for a comforting hug. Intermittently he sobbed, cursed, told his brother that he fucking love him, and he muttered something in his lowest voice. Noel caught it though. He hesitated for a while, then bent over and left a kiss on Liam’s eyelids, softly and painstakingly, gently wiping away all the tears. And that’s the only tenderness they had during that night.  


  
Noel woke up the next morning, felt dizzy for the hangover, climbed out of the bed, walked to the window with daily repetition. He drew the curtain, the dawn flowed into the bedroom.

  
He was dazzled by the sunlight with tears, after a while, he finally regained his consciousness. He turned around and found no one out there in the bed. There’s not even a single extra wrinkle on the cotton sheet. Thanks to the rose, which was still beside the pillow, otherwise Noel would even reckon what happened yesterday was just another recurring dream.

  
He recalled what rkid said in tears when they got down in the bed yesterday. He knew Liam was serious, or even fucking stubborn. Like they always did.

  
He fumbled a pack of cigarette and a lighter from the coat he had thrown casually on the floor, lit one silently, sitting alone behind the dawn outside the window. The smoke caused Tyndall effect in the air, fine dust surrounding him like shining golden powder.

  
“Rkid, listen, I won’t take anything away, except you Noely, y’ know what I mean? If I can’t take ya away, then **take me** , like I said fucking thousand times before.”

  
That’s what Liam said to Noel last night, and indeed he did. One of Liam’s favourite childish pranks was to grab and wear his brother’s clothes, but this time he didn’t take anything away from Noel, he just wore his creased shirt and left in the early morning.

  
Noel took a deep drag of his cigarette, the hazy sunlight around him reminded him of the old days in Manchester, when he carried wrecked little Liam back home in a rosy dawn. Liam was wakened by the morning light, with his baby blue full of daze, muttered to the splendid dawn curiously, **“Why I dreamed a dream you never die?”** It made Noel burst into laughter. Even now, when Noel recalled that funny moment, he still couldn't help chuckling quietly. Then the smoke chocked him, his eyes misted with tears because of the racking cough.

  
Sometime last night, Noel acknowledged, maybe he did almost make his decision returning back to Burnage with his little brother. But he couldn’t, like they would never go back to that beautiful dawn. He was five years older than Liam, compared with Liam, his incest feeling toward his little brother had germinated earlier, grown earlier, matured earlier.

  
And maybe one day, it would die earlier. Nobody knew.

  
At least Noel wouldn’t go back with Liam easily, for now, just as rkid wouldn’t give up trying taking Noel back home. He realised that, because they were born to be the reflection of each other, exhibiting mirror symmetry to each other. They were exactly the same, but completely opposite. Noel knew himself, thus he knew Liam better than anyone else.

  
Noel had enough of cigarette, instead, he desired a weed or something stronger, but he was completely exhausted and couldn’t stand up. So, what he could only do was taking a puff of the cigarette that almost ran out, after a long while, he eventually expelled the smoke slowly with a deep weary sigh.

  
3.

  
Gallagher brothers loved Ireland, of course, a sort of Irish background let them feel somehow familiar when they first arrived in Ireland. They also hated Ireland, definitely, they met their so-called biological father, who was a fucking cruel bastard, again, after a long time. They had even thought that the last time they met their father was their last life.

  
It was Noel who stopped Liam from fucking getting out of control that night, they even couldn’t finish their drinks, fled from the bar in a hurry. Their father followed them with paparazzi, ran a few steps, and his feet were stuck into the snowdrift. He was so exasperated, but what he could only do was to hasten the paparazzi taking some pictures of two brothers’ receding figure. When Liam noticed the flash behind them, he paused for a while, then Noel pressed his head, gently but firmly, forcing him to carry on his way. Noel had to lift his hand a bit, given he was the short one, young brother’s glossy blond hair was tangled around his fingers, leaving a hint of shampoo.

  
There was generally a sudden drop of temperature at night, especially on this northern island. Noel heaved an almost inaudible sigh, which turned into a wisp of smoke, dispersing in the pallid streetlight.

  
“Rkid, don’t look back.” He repeated in a whisper, “Never look back.”

  
After returning back to hotel, they took a rest first, silently smoking a pack of cigarettes, without any drug in it, just simply cigarettes. Nicotine and other chemicals made Liam feel fucking thirsty, or it might because the heating was too efficient. Anyway, he flicked and ground his cigarette, stood up to have some tea. He was exhausted and was about to sleep after a cup of tea. While he was waiting for the kettle to boil, he rummaged through the cupboards, trying to get some sugar for the tea, but he found nothing excepting some expired milk. It made Liam become more vicious and irritable, and his action of opening the cupboard became more and more violent, eventually, it almost turned into vandalism again.

  
“Fucking hate Gallagher.” After pushing back the last cupboard forcefully, Liam muttered, and Noel didn’t reply a single word. Timely the water in the kettle boiled, broke the embarrassing silence between them. Liam didn’t carry on making the tea, suddenly he didn’t want to do anything, not even standing, he was fucking drained, so he pulled the nearest chair and sat down.

  
“I fucking hate Gallagher.” He repeated, in a louder voice, as if he had already forgotten what he had said a few minutes ago, “I hate this fucking surname, y’ know, it’d be so damn good if I could change this fucking surname, Smith, Wilson, Davis, y’ know what I mean? Fucking hell, except Gallagher, fucking hate that.”

  
Noel ground his cigarette as well. He walked behind Liam, bend over a little bit, pressed a soft smoky kiss on his hair.

  
“I fucking hate it with a passion, just like you, but I’m willing to share it with you.”

  
Syllable by syllable, he articulated so sincerely and faithfully.

  
Noel used to say that drug and alcohol would lead to sex, and they did actually. They reckoned themselves as the maddest couple, who had the maddest relationship in the whole fucking world. Each time they had sex, it seemed that it would never end, unless one stabbed the other, like Abel and Cain. They would have sex in everywhere beyond people could ever imagine, rental cabins, recording studios, band van heading to gigs, and once they even did it in the backstage just before they were about to show. Yet that just happened when both of them were driven by drugs and alcohol, if they were relatively conscious, they would still behave themselves, at the very least, they wouldn’t snogging for fucking forty-five seconds, again, behind fucking thousands of people. In reality, they had their own lives and, respective female lovers. So, for both of them, drugs and alcohol were also like an acquiescence, an excuse, the only way to assuage inarticulate guilty.

  
In this Irish cold snowy night, this gentle kiss, rather than drugs and alcohol, acted as an unexpected catalyst to their delicate reaction, but more effective and unpredictable. Neither of them would ever know if it would lead to a reversible reaction, simmer and cool down mildly, or it would lead to an irreversible burst and then vanish without a trace. All they could only do was just let it be. They kissed in silence, one after another, almost suffocated by the amorous atmosphere; they touched each other, clumsily and possessively, unknowing who was the first to take off the shirts and loosen the belts; they clutched each other, fell into the bed together, as if they had fallen into both heaven and hell.

  
They had never been as taciturn as that night. Noel was so gentle, as if he was not treating an adult male but a frail nestling. Liam noticed the unwept teardrops glistening in brother’s eyes, so he looped his arms around Noel, shortened the distance, carefully kissed that dampness off, but then, similarly, his eyes misted over tear of sorrow as well.

  
Outside the window, dazzling snow kept falling, scattered by the streetlight, it looked like summertime’s fireflies accidentally flew into the cold winter, as if everything happened in the wrong place and the wrong time.  


  
Noel got up when the sky just started to light up; actually, he never fell asleep but dragged himself to dawn. He was so afraid of waking up the fall-sleep that he didn’t wash up, but simply put on a jacket and left the hotel; and came back with a pleasant English breakfast and a bouquet of aromatic red rose. 

  
Noel silently opened the door, found Liam had already waken up; sitting by the window, smoking, leaving him a dark blurry figure of Liam’s back. Even though it seemed pointless to continuing acting quietly to avoid waking up Liam, he still tiptoed into the room. The smell of hash browns and baked beans dominated the faint fragrance of the bouquet so easily that Liam could hardly notice it until he turned back.

  
“Fuck!” Liam almost forgot to hold his cigarette while talking, “Am I in a FUCKING dream? Are you Noel Fucking Gallagher?”

  
“Here is your breakfast, **two sugars in the tea** , and your flower.” Noel put what in his hand on the bedside table. Liam seemed to be paused, leaving his cigarette between those lips. Noel then reasonably took the cigarette and took a sip for himself. “It will get cold if you don’t hurry.” He didn’t explain much, especially concerning that unexpected bouquet, but leaning on the wall, slowly smoking that half cigarette. Liam seemed have fewer choice but had his breakfast mechanically, while intentionally avoiding stare at the bouquet with dew on it. While Noel took his last sip, Liam finished his final bean. 

  
Before the band’s van picked them up, they still had a spare hour to kill. They needed to take extra caution this time, it was well noted by Noel that their father didn’t come with all those paparazzi only to have a fucking drink, let alone the fact of the tension and storming out of last night, these gossip would definitely earn them enough money, only if he is not a selfish, greedy little man. Noel seemed lost in all those thoughts, so Liam tried not making any sounds either. A few minutes later, Noel picked up his guitar, sitting on the ground. It was beyond lucky that Liam didn’t go nuts yesterday, so the guitar survived in its best shape. He played several notes, found some of the strings were loose, so he twisted the tuning pegs a bit, while play single notes to tune. 

  
Many familiar segments flew through his mind, new ones, old ones. He gave himself a minute to think, and aimlessly played some chords, but ultimately, the most familiar ones came out.

  
“A feeling sleeping deep inside, you hide it so I' ll never find…”

  
Noel raised his head in surprise and bumped right into Liam’s tearful wide-fawn eyes. Why he improvised such melody was beyond him, but after all, he mistook some of the songs himself, luckily Liam always knew what rhythm he had in mind, ALWAYS. Noel kept playing, they still got plenty of time, they could still enjoy their long-wanted but short-lasting tranquility, and nothing is more satisfactory than music to fill it up. These traces of thought made him smile, he lowered his head and kept on accompanying the lead. Liam forgot where the fuck he had left his tambourine, so he knocked table gently instead for the beat.

  
“You’re my lover,”

  
Noel raised his eyes again while finishing half of the sentences; and he found that Liam was staring out of the window, so he followed Liam’s gaze. Pelting snow began to fall again, pure white, grainy and blinding, softly kissing the land and everything covering on it. Noel stopped playing his guitar, Liam ceased singing a word thusly, they suspended everything they were doing, just sat in silence, gazing into the feathery snowfall in their hiraeth for a while. Then Noel turned around and met Liam’s sight again. By default, the whole sentence should be sung by Liam, Noel was only responsible for wordless harmony, but this time, Noel chose to sing along with him on the second half.

  
“I’m your brother.”

  
Their voice was so soft, muffled and hollow, vanishing in the air, like the fragile snowflakes melting and disappearing sorrowfully when kissing the warm windowpanes.

  
When Noel was about to finish the chord at the end of the song, suddenly, Liam stood up and took a few steps quickly toward Noel, slapped his hand away, leading to an instant end of the music. He didn’t comment on his “rudeness”, but overbearingly sat right in between his brother and the guitar. He squeezed himself to fit his brother’s arms. Noel could feel the overwhelmingly warm temperature unexpected in this long and cold winter, Liam, on the other hand, could feel the mellow moisture breathed on the back of his neck, hardly could he breath over it.

  
“I'll teach you how to play guitar.” Noel grabbed his guitar again, yet his sight lied gently on a piece of pale skin revealed on the back of the young man’s neck.

  
“No.”

  
“You are the front man of our band.” 

  
“I AM JUST THE FRONT MAN!” Liam suddenly became devastated and tried to break Noel and the guitar’s control, “I’m just a fucking front man! With you writing all the fucking songs, all I need to do is shaking that fucking tambourine, d’you know what I mean? You said alright, all the songs you wrote, you wrote for me, you fucking promised me!”

  
Noel didn’t response, only let go of his guitar; however, without those restricts, Liam didn’t eager to leave away. The guitar rested on Liam’s body, who, like an upset poppy, couldn’t drag out his stay in Noel. Noel ran his empty hand on the Claddagh on Liam’s left ring finger, that was a special gift from him to his brother, and the other half of the twin rings was silently glittering on his right ring finger. Liam was slightly stunned, blinked his eyes softly, and eventually he let Noel fiddle with his ring over and over again. He always got annoyed when someone else touching his ring, it always got him unreasonably furious; once there was a reporter casually asked about if that was an engagement ring, he refuted subconsciously with no hesitations, **“IT’S BIG AND IT’S MINE!”** It’s strange though, they had constantly and overtly worn the twin rings together for many times—golden ring with ruby and silver one with emerald, not a single person guessed out that they were a pair, just like no one ever got curious about the secret incest relationship between them.

  
The jewel was firstly felt cold to touch, little by little, it was warmed by body temperature. After a while, Noel had his final touch with his fingertip before picked up his guitar again. This time Liam didn’t struggle but stay with acquiescence.

  
“Rkid, press your middle finger on the third fret of the sixth string, index finger on the second fret of the fifth string, ring finger on the third fret of the first string, ” Noel fiddled with Liam’s left hand, but it’s impossible for a tambourine player's hands to be as nimble as the lead guitar's, and eventually Noel had to press Liam’s finger to play the chord indirectly, “and here goes G chord.” He further explained, “I frequently use that.” He strummed with his right hand, but even if there were two people pressing the string, Liam still couldn’t completely press down the first string with his ring finger, and it turned to be dull.

  
“Don’t worry, it needs practice.” Noel changed Liam’s gesture into D chord, “Here’s D chord, you don’t need your ring figure for it, much easier than G chord.” He strummed for Liam again, and this time, it sounded much clearer and more melodious.

  
“ _Live forever_.” Suddenly Liam spoke, “You’re playing _Live forever_.”

  
“Yeah, it’s _live forever_.” Noel nodded, “You always say that’s your favourite song, innit?”

  
“'Cause that’s for mom,” Liam paused, followed by a long sigh, after a long while, he uttered in a softer voice, “and that’s also for ya, y’ know.”

  
“I wrote it for mom, and for you, rkid.” Noel dropped that guitar, held their hands, fingers intertwined, and it made Liam feel so uncomfortable that he twisted his wrist, struggling to reach the guitar bridge, but he gave up and relaxed at last. “Rkid, I fucking hate Gallagher with a passion, fucking twat, it’s more disgusting than the fucking Christmas, but I love it, with a passion, y’ know what I mean?” He continued the conversation interrupted by kiss and sex last night, “Because of it, we could only fall in love during the tour, but also because of it, we’re what we are, more reliable than Claddagh, our songs, or sommat, y’ know what I mean?” His hand slipped down, raging a storm beneath their skin, and he held Liam’s forearm tightly, “I am fucking five years older than ya, as long as you don’t shot in your head or crash to a fucking wall when getting high, I’ll die before you. But even I died, in your veins still flow the same fucking blood as me, once you keep your finger on pulse, you can feel me beneath your skin, y’ know what I mean?”

  
Without the sound of guitar, their puff sounded so harsh, as if it was the lurking hurricane within their bodies.

  
“Keep learning, the van hasn’t fucking arrived yet, innit?” After a little while of silence, for the first time, Liam picked up the guitar initiatively, “Just fucking start with it, y’ know what I mean? _Live forever_.”

  
“Well. **Live forever**.” Noel held Liam in his arms, like a warm and consoling hug, played the first chord for him.

  
4.

  
Liam wiped the sweat, maybe tears, out of his face. He would very much like to have a cigarette; but he had had enough of them. Only by tearing his throat apart could he barely sang out loud, he even had doubts if he could ever speak again and it could only be recovered by slicing his throat open and leaving a cut there. It is devastating for a world-class Rock'N'Roll star to sing with short breath and low pitch, he knew it better than anyone else.

  
He gazed at his brother on the left, where heart beats, he was doing the final harmony part of Slide Away, it actually sounded amazingly harmonious without his lead vocal, although not completed. Faintly, he recalled the old gigs, where he could, right in front of hundreds of thousands of people, intentionally stole Noel’s part; and Noel had no choice but let Liam. Fortunately, they were too damn familiar with each other so that a simple glance was enough to read through each other. These improvise performances never led to atrocious ends, but unexpected bonus for the naive audiences.   
“All I know is you can take me there…”

  
Liam stared at Noel, like the old times, but instead of gazing back, Noel turned away his eyes, not looking back. The younger one curled his lips, he knew, even though he didn’t look Noel in the eyes, his brother was singing tearfully. It’s just the audience were too excited to notice, but he did.  
Noel was crying. 

  
Liam retrieved his sight, turned it into a random point in the front of the stage, while Noel finished his part, his guitar solo started. This time, it was the older one who was staring.

  
It was astonishing how brothers agreed each other so well, they didn’t even need eye contacts anymore, a missed one was more than enough to understand each other. They no longer emphasized singing “take me there”, but the missing “slide away.” 

  
Liam found the stage flash was too bright to open his eyes for the first time; it almost made him thought he was time traveling. Like the British gale rushing through, one second he was in the basement of Boardwalk listening his brother playing “Sally Cinnamon” from the Stone Roses, the next he fell back in here, the grand stage of reality. **These years were too good to be true, too good, as it felt like one bizarre dream borrowed from someone, which, eventually, will be given back to whoever it belongs, won't it?**  
But… **What for?**

  
5.

  
The Oasis is a wild, reckless but glamorous dream that only belongs to the tail of the 20th century, so it barely survived through the first decade of the 21st century.

  
The Oasis collapsed, the brothers become Liam Gallagher and Noel Gallagher. Followed by Beady Eye and Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds. At the end, the Beady Eye split up too.

  
Even so, the fame and legends of Oasis does not die out, they are everywhere. Every time some random magazines start voting on songs that is known as the second National Anthem, there are several options from them. The band really deserves its name, everyone knows it was there once, right in the middle of a desolate desert, fascinates and attracts people. But it vanished after some disasters, leaving not a single trace, forcing people to challenge and question themselves—is it ever existed? Or did I just have a lucky dream? 

  
Pubs in the UK are still filled by Oasis’s songs, although for most of the time, these drunken bastards simply rise their glasses and sing, or yell, “You are my WONDERWALL!!” Each single one of them stuffs the song with their own personal emotions, no one cares if this song is actually about nothing but a fucking wall, full of old Rock'N'Roll posters, in a mediocre house in Manchester suburbs. 

  
When the public starts to discuss Liam and Noel separately, attend concerts separately, being fans separately, they seem to have forgotten, for a really long period of time, the one who stands on the left of Liam, singing harmony was SOLELY Noel.  


  
6.

  
The MV of _One of us_ is shoot at a moorland, out of the director’s surprise, Liam, who always gets up earlier than sun, is late. Fortunately for the director, the photo boards in the background haven’t been properly set up yet, so he can shoot some of the scenes which Liam does not in it, and this little accident doesn’t delay the shooting. When the director finally finished shooting the scene where there are three white horses in it, he walks towards Liam who is ready for shooting. Our leading star is bending over and chatting with the boy who plays himself in his early age, with a hand full of candies. 

  
When Liam hears the director’s footstep, he gives all his candies to that kid and stands straight to greet the director. It is the British way to begin any conversations with weather, and it is even more true when they shoot the scenes at this moorland in Scotland, where the storm is extra annoying. “It's now fucking raining. Don't mind the cold, but if there is fucking raining, it just looks like a twat, oh fucking raining.” Liam knits his rows and complains, while retrieving that delicate umbrella. The director simply agrees with him a little, then explains to Liam on the next scenes and the cameras. He grabs a pile of drafts of the scenes and goes through with our lead star one by one on the detail arrangements of the shooting. Liam quietly listens till the end, occasionally nods to the director, pleasantly as he never was the mean, reckless Rock'N'Roll star in rumours. When the director finally finishes explaining and looks up, he sees Liam moves his lips, tempting to speak, but almost succeed. 

  
“Liam?” The director asks.

  
“I was just thinking, we got chairs, horses, these kids and of course those photos.” Liam cannot help scratching his short blond hair while he speaks, but of course, he immediately realises that by doing that only makes him more awkward, so he stops and tries to take a deep breath as unintentional as it could be and continues speaking, “But I want one more element, roses, y’ know what I mean?” He then takes the three roses out of its parka jacket’s inner pocket. The Great Britain is famous for its unpredictable weather, this morning is no exception, the jacket is still wet from this drizzly morning; however, the roses are perfectly preserved.

  
“Is this why you are late this morning? You went for roses?”

  
“No, of course not. I was just too drunk for all those fucking Guinness I had last night, d' you know what I mean? I have to buy some fucking sobering drugs.” He frowns while explains, “I only got cash, but the store doesn’t have enough change, so I have to buy a bunch of candies and these flowers. Roses were the best idea, y’ know what I mean, those fucking daffodils are fucking life risk after that much alcohol, I might actually cook and eat them and die!”

  
“Alright, alright!” the director cuts him off immediately before this chatty Liam, who acts suspiciously different from a moment ago, made the story hideously long, “Ok, we can do that, we'll add some roses, we need something to link up the MV anyway. You will bring the roses, and the rest is just the same. But what are we going to do with those roses at the end?”

  
“Throw them away.” Concisely but firmly replies by Liam.

  
The shooting continues, the director original intent was to let Liam throw the flowers into the sea, for what in the last scene of the MV is three chairs on the beach. But Liam is stubborn about leaving the flower in Manchester, since the fact that Manchester of the UK is not actually “by the sea”, and the last few scenes are set in an abandoned warehouse in Manchester, plus the warehouse is located at the bank of the Manchester canal, so, naturally, the roses brought by Liam are simply throw into it.

  
The crews were all thrilled about the scene, they all thought it is the second best one, right behind the one where Liam silently counts down by three, two, one. 

  
After the shooting was over, under the invitation of Liam, the whole crews (kids not included of course, they were already picked up by their parents) come to a bar at the corner in Burnage to have a drink and chat. In a working day night, the bar is preciously empty, not even a single visitor comes for Oasis. The bartender at the counter was already be replaced by a different young man, but he doesn’t care, he just gets a Guinness and chats with the new bartender. “You haven’t been back for many years; did you miss here?” The bartender puts down the glass cup he done cleaning; he can’t miss the excellent chance to chat with this Manchester celebrity.

  
“YES! I CERTAINLY MISS THIS FUCKING PLACE! I miss the smell, those red bricks and bumpy streets. I was born here, I used to live here, and I fucking want to die here, if nothing goes wrong.” He drinks a mouthful of alcohol, wipes his mouth and turns back, he sees the half-drunk crowd cheering, waiting the one person who should be in the centre of the celebration to take his responsibility. A hasty party hardly change the fact that Liam is still going to leave his hometown, back to the crowded metropolitan and play his famous role of “the last Rock'N'Roll star”.

  
For a second, Liam refuses to go back, he reckons in another parallel universe (Is this the word? He thought), he is still that punk in Manchester, living in a tight cell with another jackass, and probably pees on his brand-new stereo again. Their profession will certainly not be playing music in the same fucking band; two construction workers, he guesses. But after a day of work, he could come to a bar, any bar, with that POTATO, get two cups of cheap booze, that POTATO might be encouraged by alcohol and grab the resident singer’s guitar and do a little POTATO show himself, just like what they did in Covent Garden before they were fucking famous.

  
Liam finished his cup, “Hey, mate, fill me up.” As the bartender turns around, looking for ingredients, he murmurs, in his lowest possible voice, knowing no one would catch it anyways, “I really wish, if possible, all the stories fucking end in Manchester.”   


  
Liam gets deadly drunk that day, it is rare though, since he has decided to change his lifestyle, he used to get drunk, but seldom like this. The crews send him back home in Manchester. Thanks to Peggy, the old bedroom is still available for Liam to rest for a night. The single bed is now a bit short for Liam, but since he is totally unconscious, it doesn’t matter at all.

  
He dreams a dream, distant and blurry, he can hardly remember the details, but still can recall the end. He wakes up in the morning sun, sitting behind the wall, where the old posters were still left on it. He blinked slowly, remembering that in the end of the dream, he **lies dead in the water** , just the same as that rose.

  
Peace of mind and soul he feels, before suffocated by the water.

  
He once thought that the death would do people apart, but then he realises that, maybe, people can meet on the other side, and forever they live.  


  
7.

  
**How many special people change?**

  
**One.**

  
Maybe two.  


  
8.

  
**“My mom insists that rkid should also receive an invite, but I know for a fact he won't come so I will put it through his door just to make him look bad. Then he'll go, ‘But I didn't get one’, but I'll make sure I deliver it myself and I'll be able to turn around and go — ‘See, he is a cunt’. I'm only doing this to shine a light on how much of a cunt he is.”**  


  
9.

  
Noel is supposed to watch the morning news on BBC, instead, he fiddles with the strings of his guitar while he almost gets lost for staring the vase on the coffee table in front of him. Those flowers in the vase have been there for a couple of days, even the red rose which bloomed to its fullest has withered away inevitably.

  
Indeed, the old ones should be changed, Sara has also urged him for several times— “when you take the trash out, remember to take those flowers too, don’t forget again.”

  
For god’s sake, of course he remembers. He also remembers that the red rose came with that fucking invitation through the letter box. What bothers him is why on earth his heart skipped a beat the moment he saw that invitation and the rose. What puzzles him more is why he put that invitation in his pocket right beside his heart, quickly put on his jacket and rushed to the nearest store to buy a whole bunch of flowers and mixed the rose in them, and brought those back home, where he placed the blossom at the most prominent position. Shouldn’t he crumple the fucking hand-written invitation and throw it into the bin with that sissy rose, right?

  
Noel presses the guitar strings unwittingly but firmly; he switches from gazing at the blossom to that specific rose. Although its rosy petals have faded away and became deadly brownish, he sees it at its fullest vividly. For an instant, he sees pictures and motions of blur, they were supposed to be deeply and carefully hidden in the abyss of his memory, those devil-may-care laugh and recklessly kisses.

  
Those shattered images somehow inspire him of the surging springs, the brilliance of the rising sun and the palm trees that grow relentlessly in oasis, for whom he used to write songs. But now, all he can write is **dead in the water** , **dying of the light** and **the death of two of a kind**. The portrait of death hangs on the tip of his pen like a droplet of thick ink, and he is the artist who is restricted by it. Although he is still capable of crafting everlasting masterpiece, no matter how hard he tries, he can no longer draw anything with even a slight bit of vivid colour.

  
Without knowing, his fingertip plucks the strings. Unexpectedly, a fingertip that covered by million-year-old callus, almost got a cut.

  
“Fuck!” he screams and immediately hold that finger in dull pain in his mouth, the melody in his head that almost completed vanishes. Somehow, it seems to him that what the drizzling rain writes sounds better than what he wrote. He is desperate to escape from music, but nothing else comes in mind, so he grabs those flowers and throws them away in the farthest bin he can reach on foot.

  
On the way back, Noel runs into a rare hailing in bold daylight. He witnesses, as the sky brightened, the glamorous white descends blindly from the sky as crystalline stones, as if the world has nothing else to offer but ice, the shades and voices of ice.

  
Noel forgets to put on his hat, ice landed on his shoulder, concealed in his hair, icily cold but melt into pleasantly warming stream. Like the celestial drops needles that sting but also brings subsequent tenderness of kisses to the world.

  
It almost last for an instant before the hail meets its sudden death, as if it never introduced itself. While the sky remains its greyish colour and the earth remains its plainness, Noel tries to reach out from the pocket to catch the pinch of damp in the air, but it is too cold for his bare hand. He stays for a moment, and eventually decides to carry on his way.

Noel recalls that raining night from many years ago, they cuddled each other into sleep only after a few months of separation. In fact, he never missed what Liam mumbled to himself, instead, subconsciously, he willingly forgets them and now he remembers, or he chooses to pick up those scatters of memory.

  
At that rainy nights of nights, never had Liam ever spoke so seriously, as if he rehearsed it for a million times but still had stage fright, as if he would lose everything by mispronouncing even a single syllable.

  
“Noely, that rose ain’t for no one else.” He spoke haltingly in his lowest voice, “I bought it for you, it belongs to you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure if the MV was shot in Scotland, I just made a guess. Someone told me that it might was shot in Portland, don’t know anyway.


End file.
